


Witchblade Drabbles

by crankylex



Category: Witchblade (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crankylex/pseuds/crankylex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several drabbles featuring the Witchblade crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sara Pezzini

His head is bowed, penitent, and she is struck with the sudden need to cause a reaction, any reaction. She wants to shake him up, to break that iron control.

"Get the fuck up, Nottingham. I'm tired of your bullshit."

He remains kneeling, and she wants to kick him, to make him bleed for the confusion that tears her apart. She is tired of the dreams. She is tired of wanting something just beyond her grasp.

She is tired of him.

But nothing compares to the exhaustion caused by the weight of the world she bears on her arm.


	2. Danny Woo

"We can touch each other now, Sara..."

His own words echo in his ears as he watches her body writhe across the bed, muscles flexing, skin sheened with sweat. She whimpers low in her throat as the Witchblade climbs higher up her thighs.

It's been a long time since he's seen her like that, and he misses it. He misses the way she sounds, the way she tastes, the way she digs her blunt nails into his back as she comes.

And he hates himself as he prays for her to fail so he can touch her forever.


	3. Vicky Po

Nice girls don't swear, her mother always says.

Nice girls don't drink, either. They don't drag themselves into work for a morning shift still hung over from the bender the night before. Nice girls don't cut up dead bodies for a living. They don't smell like formaldehyde, strong soap and desperation. Nice girls aren't nicknamed 'The Queen of the Dead' by their co-workers and banished to the basement.

Nice girls don't ache for the strong, sure touch of Sara Pezzini's hands on their bodies.

Vicky will never be a nice girl.


	4. Jake McCartey

"I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt/So sexy it hurts.."

Jake danced around his apartment, yanking his t-shirt over his head as he moved to the music. He loved this song; it was one of his guiltiest pleasures besides Baywatch and VIP. He was, he admitted to himself, an extremely good looking man. There was no shame in that. It had made his life immeasurably easier over the years. Being easy on the eyes saved his ass hundreds of times.

He checked himself out in the mirror.

And what an ass it was!


	5. Kenneth Irons

He needed a piece of floss.

There was something caught on his back tooth, and no matter what he did, no matter how many fingers he shoved into his mouth, he couldn't get rid of it. It was driving him crazy. He tried using the point of the 17th century Italian dagger he used as a letter opener, but all that did was make his gums bleed. He tried using the edge of one of his gold-embossed business cards, but with all the blood in his mouth, the paper was useless.

Even in death, Elizabeth Bronte plagued him.


	6. Ian Nottingham

She was waiting for him when he returned to his room, his personal reward for services rendered. 

The white streaks in her hair had been dyed back to their natural brown color, and with the jeans and t-shirt she had on, no one would know that she wasn't Sara Pezzini.

No one but him.

She was not Sara.

She would never be Sara.

But as he bore her heavily to the ground, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips, arms clinging to his shoulders, mouth hot on his neck, Ian realized one important thing.

She was close enough.


End file.
